Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.
~William James
A few years ago, my husband and I traveled to Ethiopia for a conference on Africa and the Bible. Because the Ethiopian Orthodox Church evolved in Africa instead of Europe, it has a cadre of scriptures and saints that Westerners know little about.
After the conference, we flew north to trek the underground churches of Lalibela. There, eleven churches were sculpted, each from a monolithic rock, back in the 1200s. During that era, craftsmen used ancient tools to hollow out giant boulders, transforming them into sanctuaries.
Most intriguing were the hundreds of priests garbed in white flowing robes, swaying from side to side, chanting. When the service drew to a close, we meandered through the labyrinth of churches.
At one point, while taking a shortcut around a tukul hut village to our van, I came across a boy dragging his torso across the dirt. His legs were completely non-functional. He pulled his body across the stones with two wooden blocks to avoid cutting his hands. Never had I seen such a forlorn child.
I wanted to take his photograph but didn’t want to embarrass him. Then I remembered our guide’s admonition: If we wanted to take a photo of someone, we should give him or her a bit of money in exchange for the favor . . . so I handed him a few Ethiopian birr, and he posed for me.
A week later, back in the United States, I eagerly downloaded my photos. There was the boy on my computer, his harrowing eyes still glaring at me. He had shriveled legs and two wooden blocks clutched tightly in his hands.
I felt his desperation and wondered what kind of wheelchair might help someone living in a straw hut in the rugged Lasta Mountains. The boy became my angel, but unlike other angels, he haunted me.
I placed his photo on my screensaver, and over the next two years, I breathed a prayer for him every time I opened my computer. I also began my search for a specialty wheelchair that a person living in a developing country with a shriveled arm and no functional legs could maneuver.
Finally, I discovered the Festival of Sharing, a relief auction sponsored by Methodists in Missouri. As I clicked through their charities, without a word of warning, the wheelchair found me!
Meandering from link to link, I discovered the Personal Energy Transportation (PET) hand-cranked wheelchair, built of forged steel and wood, and virtually unbreakable. These chairs navigate rugged terrain and are designed to take a beating.
To my surprise, one of the few stores in the country that sold PETs was located in Moundridge, Kansas, just sixteen miles from my home. I called the store and they said they’d be happy to ship a PET wheelchair to the boy in Ethiopia, assuming I could provide a name and address for him.
Unfortunately, he lived in a tukul hut village with no mailbox and no address. Nor did I know his name. All I had was his photograph.
Fortunately, Jane Kurtz, a Caldecott-winning children’s author who grew up in Ethiopia, lived forty miles down the interstate. I dialed Jane, and she connected me with a young man named Habtu. She and her husband sponsored Habtu through a school in Ethiopia. Conveniently, Habtu hailed from Lalibela.
Perfect! I thought. Habtu can go to the village and find the boy.
I e-mailed Habtu the photo. Then I waited . . . and prayed.
Days later, a message from Habtu flashed across my screen.
“I found the boy!” he shouted. “His name is Sinku. He lives with his mother in a tukul hut on the edge of the village.”
My heart leaped for joy.
A few days later, we hauled a PET to the airport and sent it to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Soon afterward, Habtu e-mailed and said he received the PET. We bought him a ticket to fly over the Simien Mountains and deliver it to Sinku.
Today, Sinku’s photo smiles at me on my desk. Because of him, our students travel to Ethiopia to deliver PETs to the poor and we have provided mobility to sixteen people so far. The tragedy is that thousands more still need them.
~Jeanne Jacoby Smith
